


Blacklight

by burrsir



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Black Paladin Shiro (Voltron), Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Matt Holt & Black Lion bonding, Matt Holt is a Good Boyfriend, Nightmares, Shiro Birthday Exchange 2019, Trans Shiro (Voltron), she/her pronouns for black lion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18016163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burrsir/pseuds/burrsir
Summary: When he realized the pain wasn’t going to let up any time soon, he swept the blankets back and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His vision swam for a moment, the pulsing in his head causing his stomach to churn. As things came into focus, he realized with a groan that his shoulder was acting up again. He grabbed his pillow and spare blanket from the foot of the bed and shuffled out of the room, careful not to jostle himself too much lest the migraine get worse.Shiro has a bad night, but finds comfort in the two people who understand him best.





	Blacklight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Agapostemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agapostemon/gifts).



> Hey there Deyan! I hope you enjoy this fic! Shiro and Black's relationship means a lot to me, and I'm glad I could touch on it here, I had a lot of fun with it! :)
> 
> It's not mentioned in the fic, but in this timeline there was no lionswap, and Allura pilots the Atlas.
> 
> As always, I apologize for any formatting errors!

It was still dark out, according to the Atlas’ artificial day cycle, when Shiro awoke. Sweat beaded along his forehead as his breath caught up with him, slow and heavy. The too-bright blue glow of the holographic clock on his bedside table told him it was the Earth equivalent of 1:45 in the morning. There was a buzzing in his ears and a pounding in his head. He took two deep breaths, trying to center his mind amidst the throbbing.

When he realized the pain wasn’t going to let up any time soon, he swept the blankets back and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His vision swam for a moment, the pulsing in his head causing his stomach to churn. As things came into focus, he realized with a groan that his shoulder was acting up again. He grabbed his pillow and spare blanket from the foot of the bed and shuffled out of the room, careful not to jostle himself too much lest the migraine get worse.

* * *

Matt Holt considered himself a relatively sound sleeper. The sole exception to this being that his, as he put it, “Arizona sun-warmed skin,” could not, under any circumstances, handle the cold. So, when he’s awoken at some ungodly hour (3:00 am, the clock says) to half his body practically freezing, he’s about ready to try to shove his rather large bedmate right onto the floor.

“Shiro, what the hell? You know I can’t —” He cuts himself off when he realizes the other side of the bed is completely empty. He pats it with his arm; cold, just as he feared. Shiro had left a while ago.

Given the time, and the apparent rush he’d left in (Shiro knew he got cold, he never intentionally left him without covers), Matt knew exactly where he’d gone. He rolled off the bed, wrapping the comforter around his shoulders and letting it drag behind him on the floor. He’d lost a sock in the night, but knew searching for it wasn’t worth the time it’d take – time he knew Shiro would be alone and needed him – so he resigned himself to the long walk down the ship’s halls and metal floors half barefoot.

* * *

He’d learned that despite the healing pods, despite training and magical alien medicines, the aches and the migraines would never go away completely. He’d started stocking the storage compartments inside the Black Lion with comfort foods, painkillers and blankets for nights like these, where the pain won’t let up and let all of his fears of inadequacy bubble up to the surface.

_“You’re a broken soldier,” a purple face once sneered as blood dripped down Shiro’s face._

_How could he be a paladin? A leader? When his own body rendered him this way, woke him from sleep, when the pain throbbed so loudly he couldn’t think, let alone fight? How could he —_

There’s a rumble from Black, both physically and through their mental link. She’s chastising him, he knows, even if she’s not speaking any human language.

“I know,” he says, aloud. “You chose me, I’m the Black Paladin. But,“ he presses the heel of his hand against his temple, “that doesn’t make this any easier.”

She rumbles again, softer this time. It’s a comforting gesture, he knows. She pulses the lights along the dashboard softly, beckoning him.

The blanket he’d taken from the bedroom is still thrown over one arm, the pillow tucked under the other. He grabs a packet of painkillers and a water bottle from the compartment and shuffles over toward his chair. Before he can sit, there’s a mechanical _whirr_ -ing from Black, and his pilot’s chair begins to slowly remold itself – a little wider, the backrest angled back slightly, even the armrests seem to raise a bit higher, easier for him to lean himself against.

“Thanks, girl.”

She makes no vocal response, but Shiro can feel her emotions through their link. A warmth washes over him for just a moment. It’s as close as she can get to a hug.

He shoves the pillow in the corner, and settles himself into the chair, legs pulled up against his chest and his head against the backrest, mindful of his aching shoulder. He washes the pills down with the water he’d grabbed before and pulls the blanket up around him. Black dims her lights then, to the point that Shiro can only tell she’s still active by the soft push of her mind against his, like a caress against his cheek.

* * *

When he wakes again, the cabin is shaking. Black’s raising her head, the lights on her dash are bright and active, and a low growl is coming from somewhere near her chest plate. He’s panting, and he feels a drop of sweat run down his temple. He can feel her in his mind, bold and loudly questioning him. About what, he’s not entirely sure, though he can sense an undercurrent of concern from her.

It catches up with him then, why he’d been panting, and why the pain from his shoulder is so sharp he has to bite his lip to try to distract from it.

The crowds. He can still hear them, cheering and chanting, at the back of his mind. _“Champion! Champion! Champion!”_ He can’t remember any faces, only the clang of metal against metal, and the sharp steely scent of blood. The scar across his nose stings.

Another nightmare. He usually gets them on migraine days, but he’d hoped being with Black would’ve kept them at bay. Just his luck.

He pulls the collar of his tanktop up to wipe the sweat from his forehead, then realizes how soaked the entire garment was and decides to pull the entire thing off to use as a towel. His hands are jittery, but his breathing has slowed somewhat, at least. He pulls the blanket up around him, tucks his nose beneath it. He tries to relax and settle himself back to sleep, but the crowd’s cheers still ring in his ears. Black growls protectively, both aloud and in his mind, so he tries to focus on that, to zero in on the warm vibes she’s sending him, but he doesn’t think he’ll be sleeping again any time soon.

* * *

Matt feels Black’s growling more than he hears it, and thanks whatever higher powers may be out there that the hangars are far enough away from the bedrooms to not wake the rest of the team.The door’s open, and his shoulders fall when he sees what’s going on inside.

While the other Lions usually power down in a sitting position, the Black Lion usually rests laying down, her head between her paws. It’s become a habit over the years; Shiro’s grown to rely on her as a source of strength and support, a quiet place he can come to when their hectic lives get too overwhelming. Keeping her head down makes it easier for Shiro get into her cockpit, where he can relax into the warmth she provides. So, when he turns the corner to find Black sitting up, eyes lit, and chest rumbling, he knows something is wrong.

“Black!” he calls. “Black! Let me up!”

Her head doesn’t move, but he can somehow _feel_ her gaze shift towards him.

Matt had taken a great interest in all the Lions when he’d first joined the team, but Black in particular had always stood out to him. At first, he’d thought it was just because she was Shiro’s Lion, but from the beginning, he’d struggled with Black. She was fiercely protective of Shiro, and their bond was tight enough that he had even been able to pilot her completely hands free, communicating solely through their mental link. Aside from him, however, Black kept her heart guarded. She wouldn’t respond to anyone else in the pilot’s seat, and would often even refuse to let them enter without Shiro’s express permission. Once given, her trust was unbreakable, but it was something that had to be earned.

Even though Matt was arguably the closest to Shiro out of the ship’s inhabitants, she still had been reluctant to open up to him. It ended up taking one particularly bad night, one where Shiro wasn’t the only one overrun with nightmares and memories they’d rather forget, and scars and phantom pains throbbing in a way that somehow _felt_ loud. That night, he and Shiro had wrapped themselves in blankets and sat on the cold metal floor of Black’s hangar, their backs against her paw. And they’d talked. They’d talked about Kerberos, and the arena, Galra prisons and battles and wounds both physical and mental. They’d held each other, grounding themselves in the reminder that despite it all, they were still here, and they’d found each other among the rubble.

Black had opened up to Matt that night. He remembered Shiro’s smile, despite the heaviness of the night. Black was no stranger to the things Matt had experienced, especially at the hands of the Galra, and Shiro was relieved that the two closest to him could find that common ground.

When Black, clearly distressed, sees Matt enter her hangar, she lowers her head and opens her jaws.

Inside, he catches the glow coming from her dashboard. Blanket still over his shoulders, he shuffles closer, enough to hear the slow, even breathing he knows means Shiro is trying (and failing) to calm himself down.

“Shiro…” he offers, quiet but firm, so as not to startle him.

“It’s okay,” he responds. His voice is low, watery. “She told me you were here.”

Matt leans his hip against the pilot’s seat. He can tell Black has shifted it, like she often does when Shiro spends his nights there. The man in question is curled in on himself in the corner of the chair, cocooned in blankets save his face, from the nose up. He couldn’t be sure in the low light, but he thinks Shiro might be trembling a little.

“I woke up to a cold bed. I was worried.” Matt shifts so he’s sitting on the armrest. “How’s it going?” His phrasing may be casual, but his words were laced with concern.

Shiro only shrugs in response.

“Can I sit?” Matt asks. Shiro nods, lifting up a corner of the blanket for Matt to slide under. Matt hadn’t really doubted Shiro would let him; over the years, they’d developed a bit of a routine, certain steps taken to pace themselves out on nights like this, to keep from getting overwhelmed. Matt settles himself against Shiro’s side, his sockless foot finally warm, and gently rests his cheek on his shoulder. “What was it tonight?” 

Shiro snakes an arm around Matt’s waist, tugging him close. “It started with a migraine that woke me up,” he says, his voice a bit cracked, “and then my shoulder started acting up.” Matt hummed in sympathy. “I tried to fall asleep here but... then the nightmares started up again.”

“Aw, babe,” Matt slid an arm around Shiro’s stomach and pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” He waited a beat, then prompted, “Do you want to talk about them?”

Shiro let his cheek lay against the top of Matt’s head. “Just the usual,” he says, “the arena.”

Matt bites his tongue to repress a shudder. He’d had his fair share of those as well. “That’s all in the past now,” Matt says, hugging Shiro tighter. “I’m here.” Black rumbles gently. “ _We’re_ here,” Matt amends, the corner of his lip turning up.

Shiro twists so that he’s laying more sideways in the chair, causing Matt’s head to fall from his shoulder to his chest. Matt relaxes against him, and begins gently ghosting his fingers up and down Shiro’s chest, over the faded scars just beneath his pecs, and the newer, starker ones crisscrossing the rest of his torso. He focuses on that, letting Matt’s touch run the lingering anxiety out of his mind. The weight of Matt more fully against him, the way he settles comfortably against him, grounds Shiro. The Galra and the gladiators are behind him. Here and now, all there is is Matt - Matt, who looks up at him with love in his eyes rather than fear, Matt, who fought armies and crossed galaxies to find him and bring him home. And then there is Black, who chose him, who saved him, who wraps herself protectively around him both physically and mentally.

The life of a Paladin is a strenuous one. He knows that, and he’s fully embraced it. But when things get too rough, when the darkness starts to creep back in again, he knows he’ll always have these two in his life, who know where he has been, and can offer him a home to come back to.

“I know,” Shiro says. He wraps both arms around Matt, and nuzzles into his messy mop of brown hair. Black lowers the lights in the cockpit to a gentle glow, purring warmly as she does so. Shiro sighs, deep, and feels the tension melt out of his body. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Shiro!!
> 
> Find me on tumblr [here](https://shiroganetakashi.tumblr.com)


End file.
